


Welcome back

by JackNSallyGal



Series: Bombs on monday [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First War with Voldemort, Friendship/Love, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackNSallyGal/pseuds/JackNSallyGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>war is hell. who better to look after them than one another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome back

If asked, James Potter will blame the giant lapse in security on exhaustion. 

When he gets home, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, dirt, and blood that's not his, the first thing he does is practically crawl into the shower. It takes a few tries to get there, with him stopping after several clumsy steps to press against the wall and work on just breathing. 

The words belong to her when they echo around his brain.

_"Just breathe. Potter, you hear me?"_

For a moment he feels the hand cupping his cheek, and it's her softness coaxing a faint smile out of him. But when he opens his eyes, taking in the trail of dirt smeared back to the doorway that he's too out of sorts to magic away, he's alone.

"Get it together, man," he scolds himself, bringing up his singed sleeve to wipe at the moisture pooling in his eyes. 

This time he squares his shoulders, making it into the bathroom in one go. No pit stops to hyperventilate. No crying and carrying on because he smells like blood and the faint, other smells he associates with death.

Just get to the bathroom. Get a shower. Go to bed.

* * *

The problem, aside from the crying in the shower, which leads seamlessly into sitting on the tiled floor, naked to watch the sludge and blood swirl around the drain until he's freezing and his skin is pruned to hell, is that he can't sleep. 

James tries everything, including, but not limited to, reading old textbooks, warm milk, and rearranging the bed, but he's about as far from sleep as humanly possible. The problem isn't with his body. After showering off a solid three days of grime, his muscles loosen and he all but falls into bed after pulling on boxers and an old shirt. He settles underneath the comforting weight of blankets and waits for oblivion to tap him on the shoulder.

"Any time now," he mumbles into the darkness. "Would be great." 

His thoughts are too loud for a while, but eventually his eyes do close even though he still feels both oddly alert and on the verge of dropping off. The line between sleep and consciousness blurs, until he's in a panic, shoving his tangled blankets away and rushing toward the window so he can haul it open and stick his head out into the bitter cold. 

It helps. Dragging in a few deep breaths. Feeling the stabs of pain in his chest because it's too cold and he's gulping it in too fast.

But it's better. 

* * *

 

"Fuck, Potter."

James, who is huddled by the open window, swaddled in a blanket and probably freezing to death in the half sleep half awake thing he has going on, thinks he's dreaming.

Normally, Lily's voice is more soothing when he hears it in his less coherent moments. It's a replay of one of their patrols a few months back, when she stopped to touch the bruise on his cheek, quickly checking in on him before Moody could bark at them to keep moving. 

"You with me, James?"

"You're not really here," James mutters, leaning more firmly against the unforgiving wall. 

"I'm not, huh?"

His eyes peek open and he realizes that he fell asleep with his glasses on when the flash of red hair and concerned look come in without the usual blur. 

"You're here."

"I am," Lily agrees, still looking him over. "You trying to freeze to death?"

"You don't get to interrogate me after breaking in," James points out with zero heat because he's too tired and grateful to see her to actually be mad.

"The front door was unlocked," she tells him. "No wards up. Nothing."

That jolts James the rest of the way awake. He sits up so fast he has to blink away stars behind his eyes, throwing off the blankets as he rushes out of the room toward the front door. His entire body feels frozen and his legs ache when he walks, nearly sprinting toward the door with Lily on his heels. 

"That's not possible."

"How else would I get in here without your wards going crazy?"

"I set it when I got home," James insists, shivering as he stares at the door for a solid minute, like it has the answers. "I swear-"

"Hey, it happens," Lily says quietly, giving him an out. 

"You ever forget to protect your place?"

"Not in recent memory, no."

"Exactly."

"That's why I came here-"

"To babysit me?" James snarls, instantly feeling like an ass. "Okay, wait. I'm sorry about that. I just..."

"Tonight was rough on you. I wanted to see if you were okay."

And James feels even worse when he looks at Lily, really takes her in for the first time since she's gotten there, and notices how run down she looks.

Wherever she's been since the mission, it hasn't been home, or sleeping. She's still wearing the same jeans from earlier. And there are dark smudges beneath her eyes that could be mistaken for bruises. But she's still there, standing next to him like he's the one who needs looking after.

"And you? Who's checking up on you tonight?" 

"You," Lily says, knocking her shoulder against his. 

And maybe it's the lack of sleep and the general terror of the night having scrambled his mind more than he'd care to admit, but James is stunned for all of two seconds, during which time Lily just smiles at him as she goes to close the window.

The rest of the morning passes with them making breakfast together. The toast is burned and James' bananas have more black spots than not, but when they settle in on the couch, with a mound of blankets and both manage to sleep for a solid three hours without a nightmare between them, it feels something like progress. 

Or hope. 

And he's a sucker for both. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> We thought we lost you  
> welcome back 
> 
> I was listening to Adventures in solitude by the new pornographers and it worked so!


End file.
